


Things Dorian Knows

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Almost Human
Genre: DRN life sucks, Gen, Poor Dorian, android angst, android psychology, best friends??, dorian thinks about things, not a happy toaster, what happened when John got drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian isn't stupid.  He knows how much he needs John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Dorian Knows

Dorian isn't stupid.

He recognizes his emotional reactions for what they are. He may have lived at least two lifetimes so far, but all he remembers is this one. Like a cat, he can live multiple times. But he only remembers waking up to become John's partner.

He is critical of John, sometimes cynical, and loves to tease him. But underneath? He's read enough about psychology, and he's smart enough to recognize that underneath all his cool acting, he's just a bit like a puppy or a little kid wanting to please, wanting to be noticed.

He doesn't like this about himself, but he accepts it. There's no point denying something that's true. He recognizes how much he wants John's approval and attention, how he'll go out of his way to get it. He'll settle for even annoyance as long as John isn't just staring through Dorian the way he sometimes does.

Dorian recognizes that it's foolish to be so happy that he's moved up from "my toaster" to "my robot." He never corrects either expression. _Android, John_ , he thinks silently sometimes.

And then he thinks: _mine_. And he smiles.

Even if he doesn't let it show, he smiles.

John, with his bad moods and curmudgeonly attitudes and prejudices and desperate need for revenge…this damaged man is all that stands between Dorian and the end of this life.

He might go on and have another one, maybe even a good one—though he doubts it—or he might have nothing, just not exist anymore. He could be immolated on a scrap heap somewhere or recycled for his valuable parts. He doesn't know about a better place. All he knows is now. And all he wants is for it to last, for him to be necessary to John, in whatever way he can be.

He is on the periphery, and he accepts that. John barely sees him most of the time. But he notices the absence now. And he's moved Dorian from "toaster" to "robot." Even though he's never very impressed with Dorian's abilities—accepting them simply as another tool and taking them for granted—that's still a kind of need. To be able to take someone for granted means they're supposed to be there, surely?

He knows how foolish it is to think about these things. To settle for and be happy about these things. To study John as intently as he does—noticing imperfections on his face that make him human, and even taking note of the data from his smart-bed to learn about his sleeping patterns and habits. To study his interactions with humans and to learn what gets a reaction out of him—even annoyance. It is important to Dorian. He knows it's important because this is all he knows, or rather all he can remember. He needs John, desperately, to need him. To not send him away or have him shut down. Every day he tries to prove how useful he is, how engaging. And he will settle for whatever he can get.

He will gladly settle for being the one who sits there and doesn't drink—because he can't—while John gets steadily more drunken and maudlin.

Dorian is glad to be the one who listens. Who sits there with a calmly compassionate expression while John talks about how he's never fit in or ever felt really wanted on the police force. Some of it is a chip on his shoulder because of his father. But not all of it. Some of it is just the way he's always felt, like he never fit in.

And then, when he's drunk just a bit too much and Dorian is escorting him safely home, protecting him because that's what partners do, he loves it when John says, "You're my pal. You're my besht pal." He leans on Dorian and tries not to stumble.

That's almost like saying, 'I like you.' And almost like saying 'I need you.'

And the next day, when John is in a foul mood because of the alcohol he consumed and the emotions he let loose, he tells Dorian to erase the files from last night.

Dorian nods, pretends to agree.

But he doesn't. He keeps the files, and sometimes, he replays that. He really wants to be John's best pal.

He wishes it was true.

 

 

 

 


End file.
